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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29881857">Jonathan</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/JamOnToast/pseuds/JamOnToast'>JamOnToast</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Criminal Minds (US TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, M/M, Other, gender neutral reader, hotch needs a hug and as a writer i make sure he gets more than one, reader has a son</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 03:13:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,251</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29881857</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/JamOnToast/pseuds/JamOnToast</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Witness Protection has brought many changes to the Hotchner's lives. Including letting them both get a taste of happiness they'd thought lost a long time ago.<br/>AKA Hotch looks great in firelight.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aaron Hotchner/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Jonathan</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>also posted on my tumblr (pumpkin-stars)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Hotch was… happy. Incredibly stressed, of course, that wouldn’t ever go away, but for the first time in two years (or eight, if he was being truly cynical), if someone asked how he was, his first response would be </span>
  <em>
    <span>happy</span>
  </em>
  <span>, no insincere “I’m fine” or semi-honest “not great” but an actual, honest-to-god </span>
  <em>
    <span>happy</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he watched Jack playing in the park with his new friends, kicking a ball around between them, the sun overhead, blue sky, no clouds… the laughter of children and parents surrounding him…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt like he could finally breathe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He loved his job, absolutely loved it… But after so long, after… </span>
  <em>
    <span>god</span>
  </em>
  <span>, over two decades, he couldn’t regret the decision to stay out of the BAU, out of Quantico, hell, even out of Virginia. He and Jack had forged a new life for themselves in the months they’d been living in Ithaca, NY, and even though Peter Lewis was dead, and they missed their family like crazy, neither of the Hotchner Boys wanted to go back to their old lives.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe in a few years birthdays and christmases would involve some visits from Uncle Dave and Aunt Em, the Jareaus and Morgans, Auntie Penny and Uncle Spence… but there was no reason to go back permanently. Quantico and DC held too many bad memories, and even if the start of their time in upstate New York had been overshadowed by the threat of an insane serial killer, he and Jack had plenty of happiness to find in their little house near the lake. He felt, for the first time, like a proper father.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A 9-to-5 job in a local law firm, soccer practice after school, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>please can i stay at Frankie’s house this weekend?</span>
  </em>
  <span> and just… time to relax for the first time since forever…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you mind if I sit?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked up to find you gesturing at the other end of the park bench.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not at all.” He smiled, profiling you quickly, unable to turn it off after so many years.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re here almost every Saturday.” You smiled back, sitting beside him, “Thought I’d come say hello at last. I’m Y/N.” You offered your hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jonathan Truman.” He smiled, shaking it, a part of him still unused to the new name, but going back to </span>
  <em>
    <span>Aaron Hotchner</span>
  </em>
  <span> would require another relocation and what seemed like an endless amount of paperwork.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jack’s dad?” You realised, surprised. “He talks about you a lot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh?” He tried to stay open, but not knowing who you were or how you knew Jack had him on the defensive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was starting to think you were a superhero.” You nodded, grinning. “A full-sighted Daredevil, I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why Daredevil?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a lawyer, aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded, smiling, “So, you know all about me, but I don’t know anything about you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s there to tell except that I’m a single parent just trying to provide for their kid?” You nodded at the group of boys in front of you, two of them celebrating the scoring of a goal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which is yours?” He wondered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Frankie.” You smiled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y/L/N?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe I know more about you than I thought.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jack talks about you a lot, too.” He admitted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s a smart kid.” You grinned, “Must be good genes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“His mom was very clever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You laughed, “Wish I could say that about Frank, but I’ll never know.” Seeing his confusion you clarified, “Sealed adoption when he was a baby.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jack never mentioned-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Frankie doesn’t know.” You shrugged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you’ve told me?” He frowned, angling his body towards yours, focusing on you but keeping Jack in his line of sight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something about you just </span>
  <em>
    <span>screams</span>
  </em>
  <span> trustworthy, Jonathan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He blinked, unsure how to take that - he liked to think you were right, he could be trusted with a lot of things, but the use of his fake name, even after months of getting used to it, still made him uncomfortable. It was only after Mr Scratch was confirmed dead </span>
  <em>
    <span>without a doubt</span>
  </em>
  <span> that he had actually been able to make friends in the city - allowed himself to feel comfortable there - no looking over his shoulder, no doubting every single person’s intentions when they came near Jack… It hadn’t been long that he could relax… He still wasn’t used to it… He still profiled every stranger, still eyed suspicious people - and over-friendly people - until he could work them out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, of all the people he could make friends with, he supposed the parent of Jack’s new best friend was a good start. Plus, it would mean he wasn’t standing alone on the sidelines of every little league match, and having someone to talk to might finally dissuade the neighbourhood mothers from trying to flirt with him every week.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you.” He settled on, sending you a genuine smile. “It, um… It’s coming up to Jack’s birthday soon. We were planning a small party. Frank should get an invite with the details soon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You could, um…” He watched you swallow nervously and glance at the boys before turning back to him, “You could just text me the details?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” He blinked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or, text me… anything. Anytime.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right.” He blinked again, staring at you in surprise for a moment before fishing his mobile from his pocket, “Um… I should probably get your number then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>God, he was useless… He’d never really had to hone his flirting skills - Haley and Beth were easy to talk to, made their intentions pretty clear and forgave his foot-in-mouth style of conversation… But he couldn’t tell if you would be the same… He knew you were flirting, the soccer moms - and some dads - had tried similar moves to get into his contact list (though when he asked their kids names and remembered Jack’s opinions of them, he was quick to excuse himself), but you were the first person to show an interest in Jonathan that </span>
  <em>
    <span>Aaron</span>
  </em>
  <span> would actually possibly consider talking to more often than “hi, how’s [child]?, that’s nice, gotta go, bye!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Plus, Jack already liked you, so that was an immediate tick in the proverbial box.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was glad he could contact the team again, he’d need to talk to Dave later, remind himself how to </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually</span>
  </em>
  <span> talk to an attractive person… then regret calling him after an undoubted bout of teasing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If the profiler in him knew anything (and he sure hoped that it did), then your nervous smile meant you were in the same boat as him, that you were coming out on a limb to direct a friendly chat into flirty territory, and you were expecting some sort of rejection from him, but were thrilled to get his phone number.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, then he almost ballsed it up by giving you </span>
  <em>
    <span>Aaron’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> mobile number, and had to come up with a frantic excuse to explain why “that’s not my number, actually, sorry, sorry, I um…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was blushing, a brighter red than he had been after that case in Florida a few years ago when they’d got the call in the middle of the night and he hadn’t had time to remember his sunscreen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s my old work number.” He blurted, frantically covering for himself, giving an answer that wasn’t a total lie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You brushed it off, laughing, “No worries, I still answer the phone in my customer service voice sometimes. It’s a tough habit to break.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He returned the laugh, awkwardly, and gave you the correct number, wanting to continue the conversation but you stood suddenly, the time on your phone screen grabbing your attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Frankie!” You called, drawing the boys’ attention, “We’ve gotta get to your appointment, remember?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kid nodded, saying goodbye to Jack and the other two boys - Nathan and Kyle, if Hotch remembered right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You turned back to him, “Sorry to rush off so suddenly, but, maybe we can talk more in the week?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiled, nodding, “Maybe I’ll come pick up Jack from yours after school instead of him walking home?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds good.” You grinned, then turned the smile to Frank as he rushed to your side, “How do you get covered in mud so easily?” you wondered, leading him off, calling back “It was nice to meet you, Jonathan!” as you went.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad?” Jack joined him on the bench a few minutes later, “Can Frankie come round tomorrow?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, buddy.” He nodded, smile playing on his lips. “I’ll… call and arrange something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>~~~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack’s birthday rolled around a few weeks later and the party, at his insistence, had evolved from a backdoor barbeque to an overnight camp in one of the local parks, complete with campfire and toasted marshmallows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hotch had been looking forward to it almost as much as his son, having been texting you back and forth every day since he first got your number. The overnight element to the party was partly his idea - he knew most of the kids and parents would prefer to go home, but you’d mentioned Frankie’s love of sleeping under the stars, and had promptly suggested that those who wanted to could join him and Jack in sleeping in tents for the night (only you and Frankie had taken the offer).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jack, now old enough to realise when his dad had a crush (though still young enough to believe in cooties), had been teasing him for the whole week - since he’d last seen you, actually, at the previous Saturday’s soccer match, where he had been caught short in the rain without a coat or umbrella, and sheepishly asked to shelter under yours. (Neither </span>
  <span>Hotchner</span>
  <span> Truman would ever tell you that </span>
  <span>Aaron</span>
  <span> Jonathan had a small umbrella in his pocket the whole time).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now, with Jack and Frank tired out from a day (thankfully) in the sun, remnants of chocolate cake on their lips, lying under several blankets and moments away from sleep as they stared out of their tent up at the sky, he took the opportunity to watch you in the firelight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The way the flames lit your skin, the soft orange glow lighting your features better than any fluorescent light bulb, better than the sun… the flickering light dancing across your skin as you watched the boys, smile bright…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You were basking in the glow of the flames and he… he was basking in </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Marshmallow?” you offered suddenly, drawing his attention to your face rather than your whole presence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He blinked, then realised you were holding a stick, marshmallow skewered on the end. “Thanks.” He smiled, taking it from you and holding it against the flames, reclining against the grass, legs stretched out to the side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He kept his focus on the treat, not wanting to burn it, and that gave you the opportunity to observe him the way you knew he’d been watching you just moments before, your position mirroring his own, legs angled to the opposite side of your two boys.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something about his dark features in the soft glow was absolutely mesmerising.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You couldn’t look away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When your own marshmallow fell off your stick, he turned to you with a laugh, but the sound caught in his throat as he saw the way you were looking at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y/N?” He asked quietly, watching as you discarded the stick into the flames without a care.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re so beautiful, Jonathan.” You whispered, “I hope you know that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stayed silent, but discarded his own marshmallow, shifting a little closer to you. “I’m not a patch on you, Y/N.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, with your faces just inches apart, the heat of the fire on one side of you faces and the cool of the night air on the other, half of you lit up and the other in darkness, you weren’t sure you’d ever seen someone quite so perfect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hotch, no, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jonathan</span>
  </em>
  <span>, stared back at you, watching the flames dance in your eyes, his mind racing at the thought that you, that… the only adult he’d really managed to connect with in years (aside from his old BAU family) was interested in him… looking at him in the same way he was looking at you…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Could he do it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Could he start a relationship with you knowing that you thought he was Jonathan when he was actually Aaron? Could he do that when you trusted him? He could tell you the truth now, he knew… He could say ‘Y/N my name is actually Aaron Hotchner and I was put into witness protection because my job at the FBI meant my son and I were targeted by a serial killer’ and then see if you still trusted hi-</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>You’d moved forward, most of your weight on your forearms as you lay on the grass, leaning towards him… pressing your lips to his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes slid shut as he leant forward too, kissing you back, no force or rush or heat - but plenty of passion, just… just two people taking the next step, two beautiful souls kissing in the firelight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And two laughing boys shouting “eww gross!” and throwing the discarded marshmallows at you with a lot more force than was strictly necessary, but the softness of the weapons simply distracting you from the kiss rather than causing any injury.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grinned at you, and you grinned back, taking in the scattered marshmallows around you, giving the boys only a moment to realise their mistake before you both pelted them back, laughter filling the air.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yeah</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>they weren’t going back to Virginia anytime soon.</span>
  </em>
</p>
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